


Dusk and Dawn

by TheNevemore



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, an attempt at just writing something really pretty, not a ton of plot per say, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:04:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5242553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNevemore/pseuds/TheNevemore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a moment when the sun is just about to break the horizon when shadow and light blend into a single strip of nothingness. A hazy blue fills the air as the two twine together in a breathless dance of what if. What if the dawn never broke? The sun never rose? The world forever paused at this moment? And it was in those moments that he fell in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dusk and Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> The absolutely exquisite Midnightminttea on Tumblr drew this as inspired by this story. -hugs it- I've never gotten fan art before.

 

 

There is a moment when the sun is just about to break the horizon when shadow and light blend into a single strip of nothingness. A hazy blue fills the air as the two twine together in a breathless dance of  _what if._ What if the dawn never broke? The sun never rose? The world forever paused at this moment? And it was in those moments that he fell in love.

He was a creature of the night – born of twisted shadow and painted with the deepest hues of the evening. His eyes were like two polished river stones, jetty and bright, and his hair appeared like spilled ink against the white canvas of his skin. Even the sharp curve of his cheekbones seemed reminiscent of the realm he inhabited, like the bowing line of the galaxy written out on the midnight sky. And when he spoke – those rare, precious moments – his voice was the sound of evening thunder and whispered secrets in the dark.

When the sun set and the stars began to flicker into life in the sky, he was born again from the shadow and fire of the night. His long limbs would unfold as though he were coming from the depths of a tomb, and his body would slowly roll upright. A breath. A taste of air painted in cricket song and the flickering glow of a lightning bug would fill his lungs. Sometimes the air would crackle with the buzzing of a thunderstorm, and at others it was a razor of arctic snow against his flesh. But every night it was the same, comforting darkness. He lived in a world of muted light and silent possibility, knowing nothing of daylight or buzzing bees or crying birdsong.

It was an accident that had lead to the midnight creature seeing the breathless hour where night gives way to day. He had wandered far from the fens and moors of his usual haunts – seeking some new beauty to inspire his fickle mind into forming beautiful words and rumbling beats. The air had begun to shimmer with a strange deep blue, as though a full moon hung in the sky, and a distant song had split the air. Stopping, he felt his breath catch. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. And then, from another tree, an answering song was loosed. A sigh eased past the full line of his lips. It was more perfect than words could ever express. But, the coming of the day meant he was to return to the shadows of the hemlock tree to sleep the day away. Turning, he moved to trace his wandering steps back to more familiar ground.

A sudden sound, brighter than either song he had heard and full of more life than the forest at dusk, broke through the air. Laughter. Ignoring the call of his distant bed, he turned towards the sound. His dark gaze flickered left and right before settling on the first stirring of movement in a nearby birch grove: A man was waking. Soft chestnut hair fell in loose waves around a broad face with an even wider smile. It felt as though every single star had been gathered into a two single points in order to make the other man’s eyes – they were more brilliant than anything he had ever seen in his endless days. And then the stranger tipped his head back, parting his full lips, as another laugh burst into being.

He wanted – no, was dying – to stay, but the persistent lightening of the sky made him turn away from the glorious person before him. Even as he lay between the roots of his beloved hemlock tree, his thoughts returned to the man he had seen for only the briefest of moments. A smile curled the left edge of his lip at the remembered music of laughter and birdsong. Tomorrow, he vowed, he would find that birch grove again.

When he awoke to gentle starlight and the first hint of moonrise, words pressed eagerly against his lips – words of light and life and boundless joy. His meager efforts to capture the beauty of the night before poured haphazardly across the pages of his tablet, but nothing managed to evoke the pure brightness of the figure he had seen. The words were just out of reach, as though they might appear if only he stretched far enough. But, nothing came, no matter how deeply his brow furrowed and his mind delved into the banks of his lived experience.

The grove was still when at last he found it again. Countless hours had been wasted as he retraced his steps; he had not thought to make a map or record the landmarks when he had hurried back to his hemlock home the prior evening. But, the sight of the silvery bark and the lithe forms of the trees brought that little smile onto his lips once again. He slowly approached the edge of the grove, but he hesitated at the entrance. What if the man had not returned here? It was only too easy to imagine that bright angel moving on each night, sharing his light with a new location as each day melted into the next. There was no reason he would be confined to a single grove; he was life itself. But, if the midnight male remained fixed to the spot, he would never know if the other was there - so near.

Rolling his shoulders back, he stepped into the grove – moving carefully between the tangle of thin trunks. In the center of the copse of trees, moonlight spilled down between their shivering leaves to caress perfect bronze skin and gently curved features. A sigh fell into the air as the man beheld the sleeping form of the laughing stranger. Everything about him was radiant – yes, that was the word. Radiant. As though he shone with a light that came from within his heart and poured out every pore of his skin. Entranced, the shadowborn knelt in the soft grass beside the sleeping figure and watched as dreams flickered their way across his too expressive features.

Too soon, the light began to turn blue and the first sounds of birdsong shattered the peace of the night. In a fluid motion, the man rose to his feet and retreated to the edge of the grove. He felt – what was that? – ashamed of having watched the man throughout the early morning hours. It felt as though he had intruded into the heart of a temple and tainted the holiness of the space with his darkness. He was not fit to view such perfection in its completeness. And yet, he paused at the edge of the grove, hoping he would get to hear that laugh once more. This time, though, the radiant figure treated him to a new sound: a yawn that ended in a bit of a whine.

Perfect. So, so perfect.

He dreamed of moonlight on soft brown skin and the sound of giggles filling the fens. For a moment, he could even imagine the pure warmth of being able to touch the broad hand that had been so innocently tangled in the grass. His fingers twitched with the longing to make his dream a reality. It was only too easy to imagine how soft the other man’s skin would be and how it would feel against his cold fingers.

That next night, he found his way to the birch grove faster than before. But he yet again hesitated at the edge – uncertain if he truly belonged to the soft moonlight world of the man within. He wanted to, certainly, but desire was not enough to craft a reality for them. It had not escaped his notice that dawn parted them as surely as it parted the day from the night. If only he were able to be a creature of daylight and spend his every waking moment basking in the sound of laughter. But, he was night itself; dark and secret, still and distant. There was no place for him in a world of sunshine. After wasting too much time pacing back and forth, he square his shoulders once again and moved into the peace of the grove. A smile slipped onto his lips as though it were a regular visitor even as he knelt beside the sleeping figure once more. This time, though, something was different. There, laying scant inches from his knee, was the full figure of a rose – white and luminescent against the emerald grass. His fingers slowly unfurled and crept towards the lithe flower stem. Clutching it carefully between thorny spines, he lifted it from its grassy pillow and brought it to his nose, drinking in the richly sweet scent of the rose’s perfume. He sighed happily. In a perfect world, the sleeping man would have left the rose for him as a gift, but it was probably a forgotten token from the day’s adventures. That did not stop the shadowborn from taking it with him when the dawn crept in once more.

Dusk and dawn melted together countless times; and, each time the midnight male found his way to the sleeping angel’s side. His dreams were awash in bronze skin and laughter and the scent of roses. It was as though all of the darkness had been driven from his sleep by the quiet suggestion of light. One evening, he awoke to the soft feel of petals against his fingertips. Opening first one eye and then the other, he tipped his head to the side only to find white roses wreathing his head in the grass. His breath caught. Sitting up, he imagined he heard the ghost of laughter fading on the wind.

He rushed to the grove, hoping against hope that there was some sign that his angel had only recently entered his rest. There was no hesitation in his entrance to the grove; he had profaned the holy space so often he figured there was nothing more he could taint. His heart fluttered a little at the sight of the familiar form stretched out on the grass. This time, though, he was stretched out on his side with one arm laid out towards the entrance of the grove; his head was lightly pillowed on his bicep. Carefully, slowly, the shadowborn stretched out beside the sleeping man and let his head rest lightly on the firm muscle of the outstretched arm. A strange sound slipped past his lips: low, warm, and happy. Just a hint of a laugh. His angel’s lips pulled into a sleepy smile.

He wished with all of his heart that the dawn would never break into daylight and that the world would forever hang in those precious moments of nothingness. Then, perhaps, he could gaze deeply into the starbright eyes of the man he loved and unfold the secrets that lay written on the surface of his heart.

But, as it always did, the dawn broke. The sun rose. The world continued on to the next moment without hesitation. And even in those moments of heart aching loneliness he still loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I have no idea where this thing came from. -shrugs- It just kind of...happened.


End file.
